Prey till the End (The Endangered Series Book 3)

by S. L. Eaves

I slip the phone out of my back pocket and am relieved to see it’s just a few texts from my boss asking if we need to order more flavored vodkas before the weekend.

  Smoke escapes my nostrils as I laugh at my own insecurities. Paranoia continues to plague me more than I’d like to admit; Vega’s visit did not do anything to help in that regard.

  A cop car whips past, sirens blaring. I'd been so absorbed in my own thoughts I hadn't heard it approach. Seconds later it’s followed by an ambulance. Los Angeles isn’t much of a city for walkers, but I live close enough to the bar to justify walking home most nights. And I enjoy the sounds of the city at night, sirens and all.

  Less than a block after my phone scare I'm hit with a vision. I was paranoid about the wrong thing. It's just a quick flash, but it stops me in my tracks.

  The vision is accompanied by the faint sounds of a scuffle. There's not usually an audio track, but as it happens I'm standing a few feet away from what I just saw. As much as I want to play ignorant to the whole thing and just continue on home, I’m simply not wired that way.

  No matter how much time I try convincing myself otherwise, in the end there isn't any decision to be made. Only time to be wasted.

  When you’re turned, you don’t lose that gut feeling driving you from your core.

  In fact it’s those instincts I identify with more than ever.

  And it’s a problem.

  But tonight it’s going to be a problem for someone else.

  The disturbance is hard to ignore as I pass an empty lot between two boarded up storefronts. As I do so, I’m grumbling at myself for taking the sketchy route home. Things like opting for the well-lit roads just don’t register with someone like me.

  I hear glass break and before I know it I’m crossing the empty lot towards a building that resembles its dilapidated neighbors.

  When I push on the flimsy plywood I find it’s no longer nailed to the doorframe. It hits the floor with a bang and I step over it into a gutted two-story retail space. Through the musty darkness I spot two figures trading blows roughly fifty feet from where I’m standing.

  Deja-vu. It's been years since I'd had a vision or premonition of any kind. When I see the yellow glow of man’s eyes I know why. Vega aside, a vampire and a vision are two things I haven't dealt with in years. Another figure appears from behind a wall and jumps the yellow-eyed vampire. Two against one.

  This just became a fair fight.

  I charge the closer of the two attackers which turns out to be a female in black combat gear. She spins around as she hears me approach, fists clenched as if expecting me. She strikes me hard across the jaw. She’s not human and her strength takes me by surprise.

  “Get out of here!” It comes out as more a warning than a threat as she shoves me sideways.

  Then she sees what she struck and she jumps back.

  Yeah that’s more like the reaction I was expecting.

  You don’t want to surprise a vampire. It never ends well.

  I counter with a blow I’m sure will drop her. I’m wrong. Again.

  She dodges my first attempt. She’s not human. She’s not a vampire either. She’s very much alive. I can hear her heart beating. But she’s quick and strong and nearly an even match.

  I let her go back on the offense, as I want to get an idea of her strength and speed so I can gauge how to react.

  Her next blow goes for the ribcage, I slide sideways as she lowers her shoulder and land a counter punch into her back. If she's alive chances are she's got kidneys I can hurt. She hits the ground. It'll take her a second to recover and I risk a glance over at the other fight. The vampire is holding down his assailant. He’s tall and his thin muscular frame looks frail and fragile as he fends off the vampire.

  The sound of wood scraping against the cement brings my focus back to the girl. I look down to see she is back for round two; leaping up at me with a jagged piece of wood.

  My hand curls around the makeshift stake as it reaches my jacket. I push back. Hard. Her shoulders hit the ground first, followed by her head. When I hear her skull smack the concrete floor I toss the stake and go to the vampire.

  He's less than thrilled when I pull him off the man that’s about to be his next meal. He hisses and looks at me. When he sees my face he straightens.

  “Find your own dinner.” His tone is hostile.

  I shake my head, “We don't kill humans.”

  His laughter subsides when he realizes I'm serious.

  “These two attacked me, it’s self-defense.”

  He gestures at the man who is now scrambling to his feet, retreating quickly. “Besides, they ain’t human. Can’t you smell their blood?”

  I can and he’s right, something is off, but still…unless the rules have changed drastically, when I was part of a clan it was understood that you left humans alone. There's plenty of ways to get blood that don't result in dead bodies and headline news. If you leave evidence of our existence lying around, there's some powerful old vampires you're going to have to answer to and it won't be pretty. We don't disrupt their world, they stay out of ours.

  “Wait, they attacked you?” That's a new one.

  Suddenly a wire slices into my neck and I feel the noose tighten. I stumble backwards into the man as he pulls the wire through my skin. The female attacker has recovered and jumps the vampire as he rushes to my aide. She intercepts him and the two hit the ground in a scuffle. I watch them wrestle as I back pedal and claw at the wire, trying to slice it free.

  We smack into a wall. Using my back to sandwich him against it, I throw my feet upwards into a backflip. My head slides under the wire as I rip it free, my feet striking the wall above him. He spins to counter, but I'm already descending on top of him. As we hit the ground I drive the heel of my boot into his temple.

  Bone cracks as his skull caves in under the weight of my foot.

  Rubbing my bloody neck, I look over to see how the other two are making out. From where I stand it looks like I'm on the winning team.

  The girl is sitting against the opposite wall, a jagged piece of metal poking through her shirt. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth as she gasps for breath. The vampire is looking down at her laughing.

  I cross the room and place a hand on his arm, grabbing him just above the elbow. Not roughly, just enough to suggest he hold off.

  He turns to me, “You see now right? They're hunters. Slayers. We have every right to kill them.”

  “You said they attacked you?”

  He nods, a frenzied hunger in his eyes.

  “Don’t you want to know why? Killing her isn’t going to get you answers.”

  “I didn’t see you asking him for answers.” He glances over at the body.

  “He didn’t give me the opportunity.”

  Eh maybe my temper got the better of me. But given my impending decapitation I'd argue he didn't leave me much of a choice.

  “This is my kill, vampire, you don’t want any part of it, just leave.”

  He pushes me aside and goes for the girl’s neck. I grab his arm and yank him off her. This time more aggressively. He counters, knocking me backwards.

  “You crazy? Get the fuck off me.”

  His focus returns to his prey and I pick up her splintered wooden stake from the floor. I’m not sure why. And I’m pretty sure the girl is dead either way given the wound, but this vampire is pissing me off.

  If the rules are still what they used to be, and have been for centuries, he’s breaking them by taking her life. It may have started as self-defense, but it’s not ending that way. Which gives me the right to dust him. Granted, it's a liberal interpretation of Pureblood laws, but something about this vampire tells me he's not shopping for blood at the local blood banks.

  Or maybe I just don't like the idea of a vampire running around my town disrupting my perfect little fake life.

  I drive the stake through his back and impale his heart. He doesn't have a chance to react before disintegrating. They never
do. Once the dust settles you can’t tell his remains from the rest of the dirt and debris in this rundown old building.

  The girl is unconscious, but still has a pulse. I don’t know what to do. My options are limited: leave her to die; walk away and leave this mess for the cops to find; or take her to a hospital and risk being seen.

  What if she survives? Will she come for me? She’s seen my face. There's some irony for you: I save her then have to watch my back. No, no hospital. She doesn't appear human anyways so I'm not sure what they could do for her. Her eyes are different and her blood smells different, sweet and tempting. As it hits my nostrils I have to step back and collect myself, calm the thirst.

  I debate going to the dead man to see if his is the same. He was strong and prepared. They both knew wooden stakes and decapitation effectively eliminates our kind. They both have crosses on their necks. They hunted down that vampire.

  Slayers? Is that a thing? Shit. What if there's more where they came from? And if she lives I don’t need her coming after me with a bunch of hunters. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as the expression goes.

  Damn. I should have just kept walking.

  Chapter 4

  The gash is about two inches across her lower torso, just above the hip bone. She has an identical one on her back. Blood seeps from both openings when I remove the cloth I'd been holding against them. She's going to bleed out and needs to be stitched quickly if she’s going to have a chance. Then again, I'm treating her as though she's human. Right now she appears to be dying like one, so I figure I should attempt to close the wound. Otherwise I dragged her back to my place for nothing.

  The wound needs to be cleaned. In the absence of rubbing alcohol I opt for vodka. Ice cold disinfectant will sting like hell.

  Okay, here goes nothing.

  I pour some in the wound and it instantly snaps her back to consciousness.

  “What the…?” she gasps, clutches her stomach, then realizes she’s in a bathtub and grabs at the porcelain. Her feet slip in her own blood as she tries to push herself up.

  I lean back holding up the bottle with one hand and pointing with the other, “Relax, it’s okay. Deep breath. You're hurt. I'm trying to help.”

  She freezes, the words sinking in as she looks around my bathroom. I would freak out if I woke up in some stranger’s bathtub, too. It has the makings of a horror film, for sure. And my presence offers little reassurance.

  “You got impaled by a metal rod. You're bleeding. A lot. I can help you if you let me. Otherwise I doubt you'll make it through the night.”

  She stares at me with wild, panicked eyes. I point to the first aid kit. “See. Why would I have this out if I was lying? You want to leave I won’t stop you, but I doubt you’ll make it past the front door in your condition.”

  I'm lying. She tries to leave I'm going to have to kill her. But she doesn't need to know that, yet. Going with the civil approach first.

  “You killed that vampire.”

  She must've witnessed that before she passed out. Good, that works to my advantage.

  “I did, yes.”

  “But you’re also a…”

  “Yes.”

  “And Will?”

  “Will what?”

  “No, Will is the other guy.”

  I shake my head. “I'm sorry.” Though I doubt it means much coming from his killer.

  She seems to be weighing her options.

  “You’re not collecting my blood in the tub?”

  To her credit, it does look bad. I'd be wary of my motives, too. She leans forward and checks the drain by her feet. Not plugged.

  “No. I didn’t know what to do after you passed out. I figure hospitals aren't really your scene.”

  “Uh, no hospital, can’t do hospitals…” her voice is growing weaker as the adrenaline subsides. She examines the wound on her stomach, then looks up at me. “Why are you helping me?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll tell me what I walked into. You’re wearing a cross, you know about my kind and forgive me for saying so, but you don't exactly fit the bill for an average human. Bottom line is I have questions I'm hoping you'll be gracious enough to answer. You know, assuming I succeed in this whole saving your life thing I'm trying to do here.”

  I hold up the vodka and the bloody rag.

  “Right.” She looks at the first aid kit. “Don’t suppose you have any painkillers.”

  They don’t work on my kind. Pills, Novocain, anesthetic – not having a circulatory system really sucks sometimes. But if I drink enough alcohol in a short amount of time I do get a buzz so maybe if I drank a ton of morphine that would do something, can’t say I’ve tried it. In any case, I don't have anything that'll relieve her condition. Aside from the aforementioned alcohol.

  “My medicine cabinet’s pretty bare. Sorry,” I hand her the bottle of vodka, she takes a long pull.

  I fumble with a needle and thread. Even my kind benefits from the aid of stitches now and then. In the past, I'd had more than a few occasions to need them. So that much I do have on hand. And I've had a decent amount of practice.

  “Ready?” I hold up the needle.

  “I guess...”

  “Oh uh- almost forgot. Do you want more blood? I'm not sure how much you lost, but I think it could help.” I pick up a bag of blood from the bathroom sink, then quickly preface it with, “Human, cleaned, from a local blood bank. I grabbed O negative, but I have every type, I think. Though I may not have your type.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  I hang the bag from the shower curtain rod, using it as a makeshift IV stand.

  “If you bleed out, I’ll try it.”

  “I heal fast. I mean clearly not fast enough, but once I’m sewn up my body should take it from there.”

  “Good.” I drop to my knees and lean over the tub. “Deep breath.”

  She cringes as the needle pierces the skin. A few minutes later my rusty sewing skills have done an ugly but effective job of closing the wound.

  “Alright, mind rolling on your side?”

  I look up and realize she’s unconscious, the half empty bottle of vodka propped against her shoulder. I take the vodka, probably not the best thing to give someone in her state, and roll her to her left so I can reach the entry wound in her back. This time cleaning it does not wake her up and by the time I’m finished stitching it closed her pulse has slowed considerably. Inserting the needle from the IV doesn't wake her either. She’s turned ghostly pale and I’m not optimistic. My mind shifts to planning how to best dispose of her body.

  ***

  Several hours later I’m impressed she’s still alive. Her pulse is weak but steady and I’m not sure what to do from here. I lean back against the bathroom cabinet and finish off the vodka while I wait.

  “Hey.”

  A weak voice from the tub stirs me awake. I’d started to doze off and my head snaps to attention at the sound of her voice.

  “You’re awake.” I force a smile. It’s going to take some work convincing her I’m not the enemy. But the life-saving should win me some brownie points.

  She removes the IV from her arm, eying the empty bag.

  “That helped, thanks.” She checks her stitches. “Already starting to heal. Guess I owe you one. Though I’m afraid to ask what that entails.”

  “Simple. Answers. Honest ones. I don’t want your blood. I just want information.”

  “Fair enough. Can I get out of this tub first?”

  I nod. I’m still sitting against a cabinet. I stand and extend a hand, “Name’s Lori.”

  “Hailey,” she takes my hand and I pull her to her feet.

  “You should shower, get out of those bloody clothes.”

  I gesture to the pile of clothes I’d placed on top of the toilet seat, “I think those will fit. There’s towels and stuff in the linen closet.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Try not to pass out,” I say, half-jokingly.

  Chapter 5


  The local morning news outlets aren’t covering a story about a body, at least not one matching last night’s attack. I flip through channels absently then mute it when Hailey emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing the sweats I gave her. She steps timidly into the living room and looks around. She's about my height, her caramel hair is pulled back in a ponytail, still wet from the shower, her eyes match her hair color as they dart suspiciously around the apartment. If I cared to guess I'd say early thirties. Probably close to the age I'd be if I were still human.

  Having been turned at twenty-two I still have to show identification to get into bars. People still offer me student discounts. I was handed a flyer for a student credit card on the street the other evening. A hundred years from now – if I make it that long – I’m sure I’ll be laughing about it. These days I just find it annoying.

  I’d been lying on the couch, I sit up when I see her and motion for her to take a seat on the couch opposite mine.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” her eyes eventually land on her phone and key chain. I’d set them on the coffee table between us.

  “May I?” she points at her phone and I nod.

  After a moment of fiddling with it she looks up, mildly alarmed.

  “I had to take the battery out,” I explain. “It’s not that I don’t want you making any calls. Though that's part of it. Mainly I just can’t have you knowing where I live. And it’s got GPS, location data, all that fun technology.”

  She sets the phone down. I didn’t get anything from it, she keeps it locked and I’m not tech savvy enough to hack into it.

  She asks the logical next question, one that I've been debating how to best answer.

  “So if I can’t know where you live, that mean I can’t just walk out of here?”

  “Honestly, if you want to leave I’ll take you to wherever you want to go. Name the address and I’ll drop you there. However, it’s ten a.m. so the route will be a little … unpleasant.”

  “Underground?”

  “Yeah. Sewer tunnels. I can’t just call you a car because I have no way of guaranteeing you won’t learn where the driver picked you up from … and I don’t fancy a group of wooden stake wielding vampire hunters showing up at my doorstep.”